I fill the tub and flicker on the candles around it; no need bothering servants with easy tasks I can do myself. I heat the water and slip off my dressing gown, letting the soft, cloying perfumes of the candles curl about the bathing room. The water is warm as I step in, toes curling as the silken heat thaws me. It has been a hard afternoon managing paperwork, and an even harder morning training with Cassian. The bath is a peaceful break.

The eddying water feels like fragranced heaven against my sore limbs. Writing and reading all afternoon has taken a toll on my mind as well, and I feel my regular mental shields slipping as the warmth soothes me. Rhysand's mind curls up against the heat like a cat around his owner's legs. I can almost feel it purring at the thought.

That's rather a dramatic metaphor, I wouldn't say you own me.

I chuckle aloud at that, but reel my mind in somewhat. Rhys is still working, and probably doesn't need my bath time musings distracting him from his work. I splash my legs vaguely. The water laps up against my legs, cradling and holding me. My eyes droop, the warmth and peace of the bath lulling me into a doze.

I do not realize I have fallen asleep until I hear footsteps in the next room. They are soft, but sure. I smile lazily, knowing who is next door. A flicker of my fire magic heats the bath up again, and I swirl the water absentmindedly. Rhys appears in the doorway.

"You're still in the bath?" he cocks an eyebrow.

"I fell asleep," I smile back. He shakes his head slightly. "Care to join me?"

Rhys slips his shoes off, but climbs into the bath fully clothed. His dark shirt is drenched in seconds, but he keeps his wings folded well away from the water. I lean forward and kiss him slowly.

After a long moment, he pulls a bowl from the side of the bath and fills it with water, carefully tipping it over my hair. The warm liquid slides down my back. Another bowlful and another, my hair is already wet, but I watch patiently as Rhys works. Eventually he discards the bowl and pulls a bottle of cleaning oil from the side, gently working it into my hair. I hum contentedly.

Now who's purring, pussycat?

My responding scowl is only half committed.

It is a long time before Rhys finishes patiently washing me. He scoops me up, wrapping me in soft towels, before laying me onto our bed and going to get changed himself. I must have drifted off, because it is only though a dull haze that I sense him climbing in behind me and wrapping a tanned arm over me.

That night, I dream of a violet-eyed cat and candlelight.